


any other way

by sadwhales



Series: Teenage Runaway [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Carl thinks Mickey is So Cool, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25228603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadwhales/pseuds/sadwhales
Summary: The thing about Ian is that he's kind of a package deal.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Teenage Runaway [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801672
Comments: 32
Kudos: 321





	any other way

He blames Ian for it, one hundred percent.

“Hey, my sister’s rich boyfriend took everyone to watch a game”, Ian had said. A sparkle in his eye and teeth worrying the inside of his cheek in a way that means he’s trying very hard to come across like it’s no big deal, when in reality, it’s the exact opposite.

He can’t play anything cool, which shouldn’t be cute, shouldn’t make Mickey want to pull him into a kiss. There’s a lot of shit about Ian that probably shouldn’t make Mickey feel the way he does, but here they are.

“So”, Ian had continued, uncool. “We can go to my house today, if you want to.”

At first, Mickey had been hesitant. They don’t spend a lot of time around the neighborhood, simply because it’s safer that way. They’ve smoked a couple of joints in Mickey’s bedroom, exchanged a few frantic hand jobs under the ratty comforter when Mickey had been sure his family was away. If someone were to ask, Mickey could always lie and say Ian’s there to do business.

Going to the Gallagher house feels risky, somehow. Mickey knows Ian’s got a million curious siblings who care about what Ian gets up to and who he hangs out with, in a way that Mickey’s own family doesn’t.

“I don’t know, man”, Mickey had told him, avoiding Ian’s eyes. “Could just go to the buildings again.”

“Come on, they’ll be gone for hours. It’s _warm_ , there’s a _bed_. I’m tired of freezing my balls off out here.”

And maybe it had been his attachment to that particular set of balls that made Mickey agree. Or maybe it had been the insistent, annoyingly loud part of him that always wants to tell Ian _yes._ That wants to see Ian’s room, the bed he sleeps in, wants to know if he leaves comic books or t-shirts on the floor. To know every stupid, insignificant detail.

So, okay, maybe Mickey had been a fucking idiot to agree. He still blames Ian, one hundred percent.

He blames the way Ian’s bed had been soft and warm and _clean_. He blames the way Ian had kissed him as soon as they got upstairs, guiding him towards the bed with hands on Mickey’s waist. He blames the way Ian had done that _thing_ that leaves Mickey fucking boneless every time, all spent and blissed out.

Mickey blinks awake with a weird taste in his mouth. It takes him a moment to figure out where he is; his face is half-buried in the comforter, and the smell is familiar, but it’s not home.

He tries to lift his head. It’s still heavy with sleep. Jesus, he doesn’t even remember dozing off.

Then he realizes he has an arm thrown over someone’s stomach, and he’s fully, _fully_ awake.

Mickey’s sudden movement makes Ian jolt awake as well. He makes a little, confused noise, and nearly falls off the bed. Ian’s wearing nothing but boxers and a t-shirt, and as Mickey’s scrambling to sit up, he discovers that he’s in a similar state of undress.

Fuck. He never lets himself fall asleep in unfamiliar places. Now he’s accidentally taken a nap in someone else’s house. Sure, fine, it’s Ian, but that knowledge alone doesn’t shake the lingering feeling of defenselessness.

Mickey groans, dragging a hand across his face, and climbs off the bed to find his jeans.

Behind him, Ian is sitting up slowly, still groggy and disoriented. “Did we fall asleep?”

“Yeah”, Mickey says, pulling his pants up. His eyes find the alarm clock on top of the dresser, the glowing red numbers. Looks like they _really_ fucking needed a nap. “Shit. I gotta get going.”

Ian glances at the clock. “Oh. Must’ve worn you out.”

Zipping up, Mickey steps closer. “Like you didn’t pass the fuck out too as soon as you pulled out.”

Ian smiles dopily, reaches out his arms to tug Mickey into a kiss. He doesn’t really need to ask. The mattress squeaks when Mickey climbs back onto it, leans forward to kiss Ian goodbye.

He thought kissing was bullshit until he started kissing Ian. Kissing Ian might be better than breathing air. Like, once they start, Mickey often thinks that he could be suffocating but he still wouldn’t want to stop. He wants to kiss Ian when they’re having sex, and when they’re not. He wants to kiss Ian goodbye and hello. Sometimes, it crosses his mind that he might want to kiss Ian good night and good morning. The thought is as thrilling as it is dangerous.

“I really gotta split”, Mickey murmurs against Ian’s cheek. He pulls away reluctantly. “After your shift tomorrow?”

“Sure”, Ian smiles, stretches his arms above his head. “You can use the back door, my family’s going to be here any -”

As soon as he says it, there’s the sound of a key rattling in a lock. They both freeze.

“Oh shit”, Mickey breathes. “ _Oh shit_.”

“My siblings”, Ian whispers, wide-eyed and vaguely apologetic.

“Yeah, I fucking _know_.”

The sounds of numerous footsteps and happy chattering start filling the house, though it’s nearly drowned out by the thunderous hammering of Mickey’s heart. His hands are sweating, which is fucking ridiculous, since it’s pretty unlikely that Ian’s pocket-sized siblings will try to murder the dude they find in Ian’s bed. Mickey’s body just isn’t getting the memo.

“You could escape through the window”, Ian shrugs. He’s _way_ too chill about this. “Or tell them you’re here to sell me drugs.”

The laugh that escapes Mickey’s throat sounds more like he’s suffocating. “Like they’re gonna buy that.”

When Mickey stands up, backs off, Ian is right behind him, hand finding Mickey’s neck and pulling him close. Mickey holds his breath, listens closely to know if any of the footsteps are moving upstairs, but lets it happen.

“Hey”, Ian mumbles, a small, reassuring smile playing on his lips. “They’re fine.”

Mickey swallows. The warm fingers squeezing the back of his neck ground him.

“Come downstairs”, Ian continues, voice low and soothing. “It’s gonna be fine. They’ll be thrilled I’m hanging out with someone. Fiona’s worried I’m some poor loser who has no friends.”

It makes Mickey’s mouth quirk, just a bit. “I’m sorry, you aren’t?”

Ian rolls his eyes. “Shut the fuck up. You look like you beat bullies off with a baseball bat. What’s not to like?”

“Don’t they know you’re gay, though? What if they think-”

“What if they think we’re sleeping together?” Ian cuts him off, raising his eyebrows.

He doesn’t look insulted, but it makes Mickey squirm uncomfortably. He _knows_ Ian thinks it sucks sometimes, being quiet and careful, but he also knows Ian understands. Ian isn’t mad at him, doesn’t want Mickey to feel guilty about that shit. But _still_. It fucking stings every now and then, not being able to give Ian all that stuff he craves.

“Come on, man. You know I don’t mean it like that.”

“I know”, Ian presses a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth, then pulls away. “Yeah, they probably all know. But they know your family, how the hell are they gonna think _you’re_ gay?”

He has a point. And it’s not like Mickey has much of a choice; he’s _not_ climbing through the fucking window.

Before he can give an answer, a sharp shout from downstairs interrupts them: “Ian! Dinner!”

“Coming!” Ian shouts back but doesn’t move a muscle. He keeps his eyes on Mickey, that little smile firmly in place, tilts his head like a goddamn puppy.

Mickey sighs. “Put some fucking pants on.”

The smile grows into a full-blown grin. It doesn’t falter when he bends to pick up his jeans, not when he pulls a hoodie on top of his rumpled t-shirt, not when Mickey keeps shooting him sour looks from the doorway the entire time he’s getting dressed. Yep, he blames Ian, one hundred percent.

He’s about to pull the door open when Ian brushes a finger against his neck. “That’s a pretty big hickey. Better keep it covered.”

Mickey nearly chokes on his own spit. “Fucking-”

“I’m kidding!” Ian laughs, holding his hands up. “I’m kidding. You should’ve seen your face!”

“Jesus”, Mickey punches him on the arm. “You dickhead. I don’t care that your family’s there, I will throw you down the fucking stairs.”

Ian’s still snickering when they head into the hallway and downstairs. There’s a stab of anxiety as the clatter of plates and utensils gets louder, and Mickey stuffs his hands into his pockets, puts a little more distance between Ian and himself than usually.

Ian’s cheerful greeting makes every head in the kitchen turn, and in about half a second four pairs of eyes are fixed on Mickey. The only one who doesn’t seem to give a fuck is the youngest one, who just keeps smacking his spoon against the table like everything’s completely normal.

Mickey feels his neck grow hot under the scrutiny. Normally he wouldn’t hesitate to lash out, but now he keeps his mouth shut, stares back defiantly.

After what feels like a century, Ian opens his mouth.

“This is Mickey”, he says, gestures behind him, seemingly unbothered by the awkwardness.

The looks on everyone’s faces indicate that Ian’s siblings know exactly who Mickey is and would like nothing more than to know what the fuck he is doing in their kitchen.

The first one to say something is the curly-haired, smug motherfucker. Lip. “Right, you’re, uh. That friend Ian hangs out with after work.”

Mickey eyes him suspiciously, but it doesn’t sound like there’s a hidden meaning behind the words, or that he’s trying to start anything. Maybe he wouldn’t, not in front of the entire family.

Mickey forces himself to nod. “Yeah.”

Lip’s eyebrows go up slowly. Mickey does his best not to fidget, hopes he doesn’t look guilty. The shithead has always been too fucking smart. Ian’s other siblings exchange looks like they’re having some kind of a weird, mental conversation that Mickey has no hope of being a part of. If he had to guess, though, he’d say they’re expressing their disbelief over Ian being _friends_ with someone like Mickey.

The oldest one, Fiona, clears her throat. She does an amazing job masking her confusion with a friendly smile. “Ah, _Milkovich_ , right? You live a couple of blocks that way?”

Mickey nods stiffly again. It’s almost funny how they’re dancing around the fact that Ian’s brought some neighborhood criminal home. If they only knew what _else_ Ian’s been doing with him.

Fiona blinks her big brown eyes, smile firmly in place. “Well. Are you… staying for dinner, Mickey? We’re having spaghetti.”

“No”, he says at the exact same time his stomach growls like a goddamn grizzly bear. Ian glances at Mickey over his shoulder, pressing his lips together and trying to look all innocent. Mickey nearly kicks him.

“He’d love to”, Ian announces. Jesus fucking Christ.

Lip’s eyebrows seem to climb even higher. Fiona glances from Ian to Mickey uncertainly. The little brats keep staring at Mickey with openly curious expressions. The kid in the plastic chair – Liam, right? – throws his spoon across the table and giggles in delight.

That’s how Mickey ends up sitting in the Gallaghers’ dinner table, staring at his place and picking at his spaghetti silently. It’s really fucking good, and maybe he should say something, but the whole thing feels too goddamn weird. He doesn’t even remember the last time he sat down to eat with his family, if he doesn’t count lounging on their ratty couch and sharing a plate of pizza rolls with Mandy.

Even _weirder_ is the fact that it’s not completely horrible. The younger ones are telling Ian excitedly about the game, and Fiona keeps asking questions about everyone’s days. Once the conversation gets going, they all seem to forget that Mickey’s even there. He doesn’t mind one bit.

He doesn’t feel the need to take part, but it might be almost _nice_. No one is yelling or punching anything, just talking about normal shit. Like normal people. It’s so fucking alien, and _Mickey doesn’t hate it_.

He thinks he might get through dinner without saying a word, when the one with the braces, Carl, opens his mouth.

“You ever kill anyone?” He’s eyeing Mickey curiously, spaghetti forgotten.

“The _fuck_?” escapes Mickey’s mouth before he can stop himself, because what the hell is wrong with this kid?

Carl isn’t discouraged. “Shot anyone? Dump their body in the river?”

“ _Carl_ ”, Fiona warns. Lip fails to contain his snort.

“I-” Mickey looks at Ian for help, but Ian just gives an amused shrug. “No, Jesus.”

The little psychopath looks disappointed. “Oh.”

“I know how to hide a body, though”, Mickey tells him. Even if he doesn’t want Ian’s family to think he’s a murderer, he’s gotta protect his reputation, right? “And the easiest ways to break someone’s kneecaps.”

It earns him a sigh of “cool” from Carl and a disapproving glare from Fiona. Mickey doesn’t give a fuck about either one, because next to him, Ian’s biting his lip to keep from smiling.

And it keeps being _almost nice_. Mickey eats his spaghetti and listens to the pointless conversation. When he’s done, he stands up awkwardly and gives Ian the most casual goodbye he can manage.

He’s leaving, already at the door when he hears Carl pipe up again: “Can I get knuckle tats for my birthday?”

Ian’s laugh is the last thing Mickey hears before he steps outside.

**Author's Note:**

> Short and sweet and stupid!
> 
> At the moment I am mostly logged out from social media, including tumblr, because of personal reasons. I don't know if this break will be permanent or not, but I am continuing to read&write fanfic! Thank u for reading xoxo


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